Through a Glass Darkly
by RainStorm4
Summary: The start of Dan's story, through his eyes. What did he really think when he came to Sleepyside?


**PROMISE**

_Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick._

I glance up at the clock, but the hand hasn't actually moved. It doesn't look like it has, at least.

The guard at the desk glares at me. I glare back. He rolls his eyes at me and looks back at his work. I sneer at him, for the benefit of the other tough guys in the room with me. They nod at me approvingly. A fraternity of thuggery, even though I don't know any of them.

"Daniel William Mangan!"

I stand up slowly, but the guard doesn't bother waiting for me; he just seizes my arm and hauls me to my feet. I stagger slightly as I follow him into the courtroom, but it's not so different from my usual swaggering walk.

The judge is the same one who sat there last time and judged me. He has a stupid face, and a stupid pair of glasses on his nose. The courtroom is more than half empty; there's just the cop who grabbed me in the first place, the social worker who's been boring me to tears since then, and a tall redhead sitting next to him.

The redhead looks familiar. It takes me a moment to place him, but when I do, it feels like someone's pulled at my heart: he looks like Mom.

Uncle Bill?

He sees me looking at him, and looks back with a pair of calm, calm eyes. I frown at him slightly, wondering why he's here.

"Daniel."

The judge is talking to me. I turn to face him.

"Daniel, we're in court today for a pretty serious matter. Do you know why?"

Of course I know why, you idiot. "I got into a fight." My voice, in the courtroom, is a lot more subdued than I wanted it to be.

"I think you mean your gang got you into a fight, Daniel."

So that's his game. I stand straighter and say stubbornly, "I got into a fight."

The judge blinks at me, and glances at the social worker. "Well, the fact is, most of the people we've spoken to have described you as a very nice young man. Until you met your gang, of course. It's always a shame to see young people led astray. There is no greater tragedy in life, if you ask me. That is why we've decided to put you on probation, rather than incarcerating you in a juvenile facility."

I blink at him. I haven't been to school in months, and even when I did go, who uses the word incarcerated?

"What this means," the judge continues, "Is that we're giving you an option. You can go to a school for difficult cases, or you can go to live with your mother's brother in a small town called Sleepyside. In both cases, your behaviour will be monitored, and any signs of criminal or delinquent behaviour will result in harsher penalties. Likewise, any sign of improvement will result in the probation being lifted in a year or so."

They're kidding. Go to a jail disguised as a school or go and live with a bunch of hicks?

Then again… I glance at Uncle Bill over my shoulder. He looks at me flatly. I have a feeling he knows what I'm thinking. And he doesn't look much like a dumb hick.

Still…

"Sleepyside."

"You'd like to go with your uncle?"

"Yeah."

The judge nods, signs a piece of paper, and just like that, it's done. My life, decided in a tiny stuffy little room.

The guard leads me down the aisle to the social worker and my uncle. The social worker, a guy called Mr Pratt, smiles at me. "Congratulations, Daniel."

I say nothing.

"Daniel, this is Bill Regan," Pratt continues. "He'll take you directly to Sleepyside."

"Sure," I mutter.

Bill shakes my hand. His grip is firm. Pratt escorts Uncle Bill and me out to a tiny car. It smells like perfume and talcum powder. I've been staying at a youth shelter since they arrested me; it takes five minutes to swing by and grab my case. We leave Pratt there, waving at me enthusiastically, then it's just Uncle Bill and me, with a God-only-knows-how-long drive ahead of us, in a car that smells like an old lady.

We drive in silence for the first half-hour. Finally, Uncle Bill says, "Do you prefer Daniel or Dan?"

"Dan," I mutter. He's quick. Despite myself, I always roll my eyes, just a little, when people call me Daniel.

"You're going to have to speak up. I can't hear you."

"Dan," I repeat louder.

We fall back into silence, but I can't stand it now that I've remembered what conversation sounds like. "Where are we going?"

"Sleepyside."

"Never heard of it."

He doesn't react. "You'll be staying with a man called Mr Maypenny."

"I thought I was staying with you," I say sharply.

"I live where I work, and my employer didn't want a juvenile criminal around his children. So, you're staying with Maypenny."

His tone tips me off: Uncle Bill is angry at me.

"What's your job?" I ask cautiously.

"I'm a groom."

I snort, despite myself. Bill turns his head to raise an eyebrow at me. "Something wrong, Dan?"

"Who rides horses anymore?"

"People who own them." His tone indicates this avenue of conversation is over.

I slump lower in the seat and look sulkily out the window.

"I know why you said you would come with me," Uncle Bill says conversationally.

"What?" He's taken me by surprise.

"You think we're a bunch of stupid hillbillies, and that you'll be able to run rings around us."

I sneer at him. "Yeah? So?"

"So, don't think that. Maypenny is smart, I'm smart, and the people who'll be around you are smart." He says it without any trace of ego in his voice. He's not bragging; it's just true. "Listen, Dan, I stuck my neck out because you're Lizzie's son. If you screw this opportunity up, I won't ask them to give you another. Be smart."

"Really know how to make a guy feel welcome, hey, Uncle Bill?" I say sarcastically.

"People call me Regan. You can do the same."

"Regan. Swell."

There's silence for a moment, then he sighed. "That came out wrong."

"Yeah?"

"Dan, I'm – there's – just, stay out of trouble, and I'll tell Pratt you're doing well, and you can stay, alright?"

"Yeah. Fine."

"We've got you enrolled in the high school," he says hopefully.

Right. Cause school is what makes kids happy.

"And there are a couple of young people around for you to spend time with."

"I thought your boss didn't want me around his kids."

"He's happy for you to make friends," Regan tells me cagily.

I stare out the window and don't respond.

"Dan, listen." Regan sighs deeply again. "I had a pretty lousy childhood too, alright? I spent most of it running away from trouble. I don't want the same thing for you, so trust me when I say that staying here and keeping your head down is the smart thing to do. You're family, Dan. I'll look after you."

Despite myself, I turn to look at him. He's taken his eyes off the road to look at me, and damnit, but he looks like a puppy I saw once. I can't say no to that face. "I'll try."

It's grudging, but it's still a promise.

* * *

**I made up the name of Regan's sister/Dan's mother, but I thought Elizabeth, or Lizzie, was a safe bet. Please let me know what you think :)**


End file.
